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by Withmyteeth



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Minor Character Death, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Sakusa Kiyoomi/Ushijima Wakatoshi, Panic Attacks, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:54:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26418295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Withmyteeth/pseuds/Withmyteeth
Summary: It’s 3:47am when he gets the call.I’m afraid your grandfather’s had a bit of a spill.And, just like that, he's returning to a small town he once called home, to problems that are decades old, and to people he had thought he could get over if he ran far enough away.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 16
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so theoretically this was supposed to be a Big Eden AU, but I haven't been able to watch it since they took it off Netflix, and the characterization isn't perfect anyway, so you guys get THIS. God knows what this is. I dont know what this is. It's self-indulgent and unbeta'd. Let me know if there's any really bad spelling mistakes, please!
> 
> OH also I'm hard on Kiyoomi but that's because I can understand fears getting in the way of doing what you actually want, and it SUCKS.

_Hello. Is this Sakusa Kiyoomi?_

It’s 3:47am when he gets the call. It’s 4am when he books a one-way plane ticket. It’s 5am when he manages to get a hold of his Coach, to say that he needs to take an indefinite leave. _Family issues._ The words encompass so much, are inadequate and too detailed at the same time. But he can’t stop to dwell on it. If he stops moving, he may actually break down. So, he cleans his house from top to bottom. He texts his cousin that he’ll need someone to keep after the apartment, skirting over the reasoning. Komori has always been smart, able to put the pieces together. But Kiyoomi knows he won’t ask, not yet. Won’t push him into answering, not when he has to know how Kiyoomi is one step from being unable to do anything.

_This is nurse Akaashi Keiji, from ABC hospital._

He washes his hand ten times before he leaves. Everything smells like disinfectant, fake citrus seeping into his very pores. He can barely breathe under the mask he’s wearing, but he can’t bring himself to swap it, not when he’s boarding a flight with all these strangers, not when he’s desperately cleaning the seat he’ll be confined to for hours, not when all he can think of is the worst possibilities.

_I’m afraid your grandfather’s had a bit of a spill._

Will he still have a grandfather after this? The nurse had assured him that he was fine, that the broken bone wasn’t a death sentence, but it _felt_ like it. His grandmother had been fine, too. Had been cheery and far too loud when Kiyoomi had just wanted to sleep. Had even woken him up, so he could get to school. It was after, when he walked back after practice, that he came back to an empty house. And it was even later than that his grandfather came back, alone, a tangible tension in him when he said that his grandmother had been taken to the hospital. A heart attack.

“How is she? When will she be back?” Kiyoomi remembers being desperate. Remembers not wanting to believe in the sinking feeling in his gut, the same feeling that wanted him to demand his grandfather shower, cleanse himself of all the diseases that had to be living on him. Hospitals were where you went when you were sick. His grandmother was not sick. She was loud and had told him that she’d be baking brownies for his game on Saturday. She always threatened to lick some of the batter as a taste test, fingers hovering right above the batter only to stop when Kiyoomi scrunched up his nose in disgust. She’d laugh and grab a spoon for him and a spoon for her. She never complained that he had to wash his spoon again before he could let himself try it, just smiled and took her own spoonful before claiming herself the queen of baking. Kiyoomi always rolled his eyes, even if he agreed.

She would be back.

His grandfather’s shoulders shook. Kiyoomi doesn't think he's ever seen him cry before.

She... _had_ to be back. Right?

“She's gone, Kiyoomi.”

If Kiyoomi had been any other child, he would’ve been able to crawl into his grandfather’s arms, to hug him. Would’ve been able to smother his own tear-streaked face into the crook of his grandfather’s neck. To ask for comfort, to comfort in return.

But the thought of all those germs was still haunting him. He couldn’t touch him. And his grandfather didn’t ask him to. They just stood there, tears and shaky breaths and a feeling of _wrongness_ filling up the space between them. He hadn’t been able to even give her a proper goodbye. She’d gone to the hospital after he had treated her horribly, always cranky in the morning, half-heartedly kissing her cheek and complaining about being late as she tried to get him to put on a light jacket. He hadn’t told her he loved her.

Kiyoomi remembers feeling like a failure for not telling her how he felt, how much she meant to him. Remembers the feeling staying in his gut at the funeral, as countless people- the curse of a small town where everyone knows everyone and someone dyi… _passing away_ affected the whole town- gave their condolences, offered their shoulders, their arms to his grandfather. Because he still couldn’t do that. Still couldn’t make himself touch the man that _raised him_ for more than a brief second. He couldn’t do anything but sit too angrily in a too-cold pew that he had spent too long wiping down.

_He’ll be fine, but, well, he won’t be walking any time soon. You’re the only one listed here for his contact. Do you know anyone who would be able to take care of him?_

Kiyoomi would rather be the one buried six feet under than let someone else be the one to take care of his grandfather, _again._

So, he gets on a train after his plane, and he rides a taxi, and he climbs the stairs up to the floor where the nurse helpfully says his grandfather is, and he exposes himself to sick patients and sick visitors and god knows what else, and he rubs himself raw with hand sanitizer, and he opens the door too harshly to see his grandfather smiling back at him. As if he knew he was coming. As if Kiyoomi deserved this trust after he had been unable to help him the first time, so many years ago.

_I can. I’ll be there in the afternoon._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have actually no grip on Komori besides 1) he likes messing with Kiyoomi and 2) they're cousins, but I read in a fic that he slept around and I like it as a headcanon. It's a nice contrast between the cousins.

His grandfather’s smile doesn’t leave, not when he argues with Nurse Akaashi about his eating habits, not when he is placed in the wheelchair that he’ll be using for the foreseeable future, not when Kiyoomi and he _finally_ leave the elevator to return home.

“You seem awfully happy for someone who fell off a roof.” His grandfather has the nerve to roll his eyes at him. As if he’s not in a cast because he broke a bone.

“Can’t have the rain making a mess of Kuroo’s house, can we? Someone had to fix it.”

“And that someone had to be you?”

“Mmm, ‘course. Tetsurou went up to the city to play. Can’t fix roofs and play volleyball at the same time.” Kiyoomi should probably be surprised that Tetsurou left, or that he’s playing volleyball professionally, but he isn’t. The coach for the school played volleyball professionally, and their team had always been good.

_“Only three ways out of this town,” Someone’s talking, Kiyoomi doesn’t know who, head down on his desk as he waits for lunch to finish up. “Get hitched, be super smart, or play volleyball real good. ‘Else you’re here forever.”_

Kiyoomi had played volleyball amazingly. Had used his double-jointed wrists to spin balls over the heads of his opponents, had gotten service ace after service ace to prove himself to scouts.

And when he was scouted for a team abroad, he had taken the offer for the escape it had been.

“How’s that cousin of yours? Still causin’ trouble and breakin’ hearts?” Kiyoomi snorts.

“Of course. Komori has no plans to settle down.” Komori has jumped into bed with anyone who was interested since high school, skype-ing Kiyoomi to give details that he has never asked for. Kiyoomi has always thought it disgusting to jump into bed with virtual strangers, not knowing where they had been, not knowing how hygienic they were, but he has long since admitted that he was jealous of his cousin for not caring about that and being able to lose himself in the feel of another person.

(Thankfully, whenever he gets too upset at the prospect that- while he’s able to tolerate much more than he could as a child- he might never be comfortable enough to touch another person as intimately as Komori can, he remembers that Komori had slept with identical twins, and accidentally thought one was the other, leading to the girl to literally throw him out mid-coitus. Komori had to walk back in just his underwear and had to go back the previous day for his stuff. Half of his school had seen him naked at some point or another, so he hadn’t sounded particularly embarrassed as he had recounted this to a Kiyoomi that had glowed with amusement, but Kiyoomi had thought at that moment that at least he would never have to call out the wrong name if no one was ever there to hear a name fall from his lips.)

They fill the rest of the cab ride with small talk, his grandfather filling him on some of the details of the town. Who’s left, who’s still around, who’s son’s best friend’s ex-girlfriend’s mom is getting promoted. Once upon a time, Kiyoomi would’ve been more familiar with the names of the families that are being talked about. After a decade away, most of the familiarity is lost, but he lets the knowledge wash over him anyway.

It’ll be good to know his neighbors.

It isn’t until long after the cab has pulled away, after Kiyoomi has wheeled his grandfather in and unpacked his suitcase into his childhood bedroom, after both of them have showered and scrubbed themselves clean, that his grandfather drops a bomb on him.

“Oh! You ‘member the Ushijima boy, right?” Kiyoomi’s heart is in his _throat_. And it is beating too fast at just the name. Still, he makes a noise of assent. “His dad’s been runnin’ the summer shebang these last couple years. Ushijima doesn’t usually come on down,” Kiyoomi prays to every deity that he can think of in under a second. His heart’s no longer beating, instead choosing to freeze like the rest of him. He couldn’t breathe even if he actually attempted to. “But guess his dad’s wore ‘im down. He’s s’posed to be here next week. You two can catch up. You were always the best of friends.” Kiyoomi makes another noise of assent, vague. His grandfather’s already moving on, talking about the next person, about the summer festival, about anything and everything that Kiyoomi has missed, but Kiyoomi hears none of it.

_There’s a month until graduation. A month until Kiyoomi’s an official adult. He has offers from all over, even if he’s hesitant to be any more than a couple hours from his grandfather. His grandmother has been dead for only a couple years, and they’ve never quite settled. His grandfather has started talking more, much more, as if he can make up for her presence by never letting there be a moment of silence between them._

_He can’t make brownies the way she did. And Kiyoomi can’t always bring himself to be okay with touching him, even when it’s the dead of night and the soft sniffles are carrying through the otherwise fairly quiet house._

_So, Kiyoomi lets him talk. And his grandfather acts like Kiyoomi being around the house more is enough of a comfort._

_But there’s more than just graduation and the life-altering choices that it brings. When Kiyoomi is up late with his grandfather crying and crickets chirping in the background, it’s not only the future of his volleyball career that has him worrying. It’s the way his heart speeds up at the thought of one boy, at how there are consequences for the sort of thoughts he only lets himself think in the dark of the night. Of the desire to have calloused hands hold his, of the desire to see a usually stoic face break into a small smile meant just for him, of the desire for the entirety of the boy, of the desire that threatened to swallow Kiyoomi whole and spit him out with nothing to show for it but anxiety and too many daydreams._

_Kiyoomi has never felt before what he does for Ushijima Wakatoshi._

_He doesn’t think saying that he likes him is enough. But saying that he loves him, even only to himself, seems like too much. It’s more like a fascination. Every little bit that he knows about him is treasured, tucked away into his memory where he can think about them later._

_Ushijima’s parents are divorced. His mother had sole custody for years because her family was well off. His father had managed to find a really good lawyer, Ushijima had fought to be allowed to be with his father, and that’s how they found themselves in Kiyoomi’s broken down town mid-way through their second year of highschool._

_Ushijima liked plants. He gardens. He helps the Kitas with their farm. He had houseplants all over his room. He would walk to school with Kiyoomi and name some on their route. If he were too quiet, too lost in his head, Kiyoomi would ask for the name of one or offer his own hesitant one, watching as Ushijima’s eyes went soft as he either named the plant or gently corrected Kiyoomi._

_Ushijima was too soft for all that he seemed like a man made of stone. He frowns when someone brushes off explaining a joke, thinking that there is something wrong with him for not being able to understand the nuance of tone and the subtleties that went with it. Something uncomfortable flashes in his eyes whenever someone remarks on his lack of inflection, his lack of facial expressions. He doesn’t watch horror movies, doesn’t care for the dark. And he never pressed on issues that you were reluctant to talk about, even if it meant he was frustrated with himself for not understanding._

_Kiyoomi has been trying to work up the nerve to either tell him how he felt or just get over it all since he watched Ushijima give a stilted introduction in front of the class. The butterflies that had made their way into his stomach, making him sit that much straighter in attention, had threatened to overpour so many times. But Kiyoomi knows there are many words for boys who like boys. And a lot of them aren’t nice._

_He doesn’t care what they say about him. He’s been called many names throughout his life. The majority of the ones from other students have never been pleasant. It’s a byproduct of having a panic attack in the middle of kindergarten because a girl had hugged him, and it never really disappeared. But._

_Ushijima._

_Ushijima deserves only the nicest of words. There’s so little chance that he looks at Kiyoomi and thinks anything similar to what Kiyoomi thinks of him, and Kiyoomi can’t drag him down with him. Won’t drag him down._

_He has to get his feelings off his chest eventually. Has to let Ushijima know how much he loves him in a composed manner that actually gives the other boy a chance to react instead of his feelings exploding out of him. But he has to be safe about it. Has to make sure no one overhears. Has to make sure no well-meaning neighbor or busybody of a student gets word of this._

_Ushijima is asking him about his future plans, actually looking as if he cares where most people only ask to fill up the time. And Kiyoomi knows that he can’t handle thinking how he wishes Ushijima were there to care about what he had to say for the rest of his future._

_“Ushijima.” He wets his lips with his tongue. Ushijima does not see it, because Kiyoomi is wearing his mask. “I have to tell you something.”_

_“Of course. Are you okay?” The words don’t sound particularly worried, but Kiyoomi can see the way Ushijima watches him, can see the way that his brows furrow minutely._

_“I am.” He takes a breath. Closes his eyes and takes another one. “I have…feelings for you.” He scowls, opening his eyes. That sounds too vague. He doesn’t want there to be any misunderstanding, no space to misconstrue his meaning. “I like you. Romantically. A lot.”_

_“I see.” Ushijima’s brows have unfurrowed, and he’s looking at Kiyoomi. Like he’s analyzing him._

_Kiyoomi’s a little afraid to know what he sees._

_“I…would like to think about this. Is that okay with you?” And Kiyoomi’s heart clenches. There’s hope threatening to overwhelm him. And just pure gratefulness, because Kiyoomi has just thrown this at him, and he’s being so kind about this. He nods, unable to speak. The movement keeps him from letting out the tears that are forming._

_Ushijima thinks for a week._

_The week is both bliss and hell. He sits minutely closer to Kiyoomi when they’re together. Not enough that Kiyoomi feels threatened by the possibility of being touched, but close enough that he could reach out and touch him himself. If they’re not focused on something specific, Ushijima is staring at him. It makes Kiyoomi uncomfortable, if he’s honest with himself. It’s a lot of attention, and Ushijima has never been one to be distracted easily. When he’s focused on something, he’s focused completely. And Kiyoomi has never tried to be in his head, so he doesn’t know what things he’s thinking about, if he’s thinking Kiyoomi’s gross, or if the confession was a surprise, or if he’s thinking that maybe he’s okay with this. Or more than okay._

_It’s like being trapped under a microscope._

_It’s like being sick with a mysterious disease, where the doctor does a bunch of tests but doesn’t explain or tell you the results._

_But the microscope lessens. And the doctor comes in, grim faced as he lets you know that you’re dying._

_That’s dramatic._

_But Ushijima does invite him over, calling him in the afternoon while his father is out. Kiyoomi knows from the way that Ushijima can’t stop pulling at one of his fingers that this is not a comfortable conversation._

_And he’s right._

_It’s not even a conversation._

_“I’m sorry, Sakusa.” A piece of Kiyoomi dies, hearing his family name. Wants to hear his first name from him instead. Even if it would kill him to be turned down like that. “I do not like you romantically.” It’s simple, and Kiyoomi wants to scream. Because it’s not vague. There’s no misunderstanding. No way to hope he heard wrong._

_Ushijima looks as if there’s something else he wants to say, but Kiyoomi can’t bear to hear it. And it’s selfish, because Ushijima has done nothing wrong except not love him the way he wants, but Kiyoomi can’t even bear to be here right now. “I understand. Thank you for your honesty.” And he bows. And he leaves._

_He goes home. He crawls into his bed and sobs to himself quietly._

_His grandfather leaves him onigiri with umeboshi. He eats it when he doesn’t feel like he’ll cry into his food. There are questions, because this isn’t normal behavior, not by far, but thankfully he gets away with saying he doesn’t want to talk about it._

_Ushijima is distant, as if he’s second-guessing everything he does. Kiyoomi can feel the way he’s being carefully treaded around, as if he’ll break._

_Graduation comes. There’s something strange in Ushijima’s voice after the ceremony, as he thanks Kiyoomi for his friendship._

_As Kiyoomi is boarding a plane and trying to distract himself from the way he’s trapped in here with all these strangers and their questionable history, New York being the perfect way to distract himself from all of this, he thinks that maybe he knows exactly why Ushijima had sounded like that._

_It was an apology. It was a goodbye._

_It was a eulogy for the funeral of their friendship._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I like implying Ushijima has autism
> 
> Me: Ushijima has autism
> 
> Atsumu, baby, I'm so sorry that you haven't even APPEARED yet. But we gotta go through some past trauma. Hopefully I'll get to put you in next chapter. (I'm uploading as I write so the chapters are written and thrown here before I second guess everything RIP


	3. Chapter 3

Kiyoomi resolves to not think about Ushijima until the next week. ‘Out of sight, out of mind’ has worked for him so far, and he’s not planning on changing that. Not unless he really wants his grandfather to start probing around his mind.

Instead, he cleans the entire house, top to bottom. Deep cleaning has always been sort of healing, an exercise that leaves him exhausted but proud. His grandfather offers to help, but, by the third time Kiyoomi gives him detailed instructions on how he wants something done, he’s laughing and saying that he’ll leave Kiyoomi to it. And Kiyoomi misses no part. Laundry? Done. Dishes? Sparkling. Clutter? Completely gone.

His grandmother’s things are difficult to clean, but he pushes forward. He doesn’t stop to reminisce. Gives himself no time with wiping down the dusty mementos. Her smile is unearthed from a layer of grime, and he places the photo back in the box to work on the next one. When all of them are done, he places the box back in the closet they came from and goes to finish.

His grandfather wheels himself in, whistling at all of it as he takes himself to the shower. Kiyoomi cleans off the chair, and the dirt it’s tracked in, and then the house is done. He washes his hands again, and everything is clean. No dust. No mold. No grime.

No food.

Kiyoomi had thrown away leftovers that had clearly been _left_ a while ago. Had chased out bugs that had made their way into the high shelves, engorging themselves on snacks someone had left and not come back for. (His grandfather has always been a presence, but he had never been a tall one. Kiyoomi doesn’t know who left the food and was irresponsible enough to come get it, but grudgingly admits that the unhealthy snack was best left out of reach of his grandfather. He still remembers the nurse from the hospital telling his grandfather to eat healthier. Flavor blasted goldfish do not fall under the category of ‘healthy’.)

But the point is that they’re left with minimal food, with eggs and milk but not much else. And Kiyoomi’s never been much of a cook, but it doesn’t take a famous chef to come to the conclusion that they’ll need more than that to actually eat.

“We need groceries.” His grandfather smiles, wheels himself over to grab a phone that feels much more high tech than someone of his age would normally be comfortable with. But he wheels himself back and is pulling up an app with ease. Kiyoomi wonders if he taught himself how to use it, wonders if someone helped him.

The app is simple, graphics nothing amazing. The font is a little big, letters not quite uniform. But his grandfather shows him where the food is, how to add things to his cart, where the cooked food options are. It takes five minutes for the explanation, and then he’s making a mental list of his grandfather’s requests. And then a physical list because there is no way he’s going to remember all the details of what his grandfather is asking for. Some things are out- “they have some of the best desserts, you should grab a cake to celebrate you bein’ back!”- but other things, like a specific type of oatmeal- “I swear they started addin’ different brands just to mess with me”- are more doable. His grandfather even wipes his phone down as he talks, cleaning it without being asked before he hands it over so Kiyoomi can place their order.

It’s late, a little past the time Kiyoomi would normally have dinner, and he has no idea where the grocer’s is, so orders it for delivery. The app tells him that it’ll be there within an hour, with a little tracker that seems a little redundant. There are only so many miles in this town, why bother?

The hour passes with his grandfather’s chatter. He doesn’t say anything about the way that Kiyoomi isn’t wearing a mask in the house, or the way Kiyoomi walks a little closer than he would’ve years ago. But his eyes track his movement, and there’s a look of surprise in his eyes as he talks about the farmer’s market that’s every Sunday. Kiyoomi feels proud, knows he’s come a long way- thank God for therapists- and appreciates that it can be uncommented on but still acknowledged.

Soon, there’s two knocks on the door. His grandfather makes to get up, but Kiyoomi puts a hand on his shoulder and stops him so he can do it. And his grandfather raises his hands in mock defeat, chuckling. “Alright, alright. ’m old. You’re young. Go open the door.” Kiyoomi huffs his own laugh, putting on a face mask and some gloves. There are two more knocks on the door right before he can open it, and he huffs again, this one less amused.

He opens the door to find all his amusement vanishing completely.

“Ojiisan, you throwin’ a party without me?” The person in front of him’s face is blocked by the brown bag he’s holding, but Kiyoomi knows that nasal tone. His teeth automatically grind as he instinctively recognizes the teasing tone. Kiyoomi had run from Ushijima.

The distance from Miya Atsumu had just been an excellent side effect.

At least Kiyoomi isn’t the only one that seems surprised by this meeting. Miya’s face, when he lowers the bag, drops its smile, only for a different one to take its place. The second one is more stretched.

“Guess the rumors are true, huh? You finally replacin’ me, old man?” _Replacing?_ Kiyoomi scowls. This is _his_ grandfather.

“It ain’t that easy to get rid of you, brat.” His grandfather laughs, and Miya cackles, the latter’s sound grating on Kiyoomi’s ears. He grabs the brown bag with a tad more force than necessary, taking it to the kitchen. Miya unfortunately takes this as a sign to come in, taking his shoes off and grabbing two more bags from a wagon that Kiyoomi hadn’t even noticed. At least the wagon stays outside, even if Miya’s shoes are haphazardly left in front of the door. God knows where it’s been and how long it’s been in Miya’s possession.

Miya’s hair is the same mustard yellow color it was from when he did it the first time in high school. His voice is still as annoying as before. And apparently he hasn’t lost his gift of gab, chattering on with his grandfather as he gives each item to Kiyoomi so he can disinfect it before putting it in its proper space.

When they’re done, Kiyoomi hopes that the intruder will leave them be. Of course, Miya has never done what Kiyoomi wants him to, and he sits next to his grandfather on the sofa, continuing their conversation.

Five minutes pass. Then ten. Then twenty.

Kiyoomi wants to prepare dinner but doesn’t want to invite Miya to stay any longer. Doesn’t want to have to cook for him, doesn’t want to hear his inane comments on his attempts of cooking, doesn’t want him in this house any longer. And maybe that’s unfair, because it’s been _years_. Maybe Miya is less annoying as a person than he was before. Maybe Kiyoomi is the only one carrying on a grudge from years ago, carrying on their childish rivalry.

But Miya smirks at him when Kiyoomi’s grandfather excuses himself to use the bathroom, and Kiyoomi suddenly knows that Miya knows exactly how unwelcome Kiyoomi finds him.

“What’re you up ta, then, Omi-san?” Kiyoomi hasn’t heard this dumb nickname in ten years. Had hoped he never would again. When his teammates in the States butcher his name, at least it’s because of their accent. Suh-koo-sah. This, _this_ , is purposeful mockery. Because Miya ignored every request, every demand, to call Kiyoomi by his last name instead of giving him some fucking nickname. “Didn’t ‘xactly expect ya to be turnin’ up. Thought you were partyin’ in America or somethin’.”

“I was playing volleyball.” Kiyoomi takes a deep breath. Miya is a pest. And if he ignores him, Miya will just be more annoying. “What are _you_ doing here, Miya?”

“Deliverin’ your food and talkin’ to Ojiisan, what’s it look like?”

“It looks like you’re intruding on dinner time.” Kiyoomi is thankful that his grandfather is still in the bathroom, unable to hear the words that come unbidden, an instinct to be rude that Kiyoomi falls himself listening to without hesitation. “I don’t feed strays.” 

“Hey, if ya wanted me to leave, all ya had to do was ask.” Miya’s hands go up, trying to plead innocence. His grandfather had done the same movement not even two hours earlier, and it had made Kiyoomi laugh. Now all it does it raise his hackles. “You gonna be stickin’ ‘round, then?”

“I don’t really see how that’s your business.” Miya groans, a hand rubbing across his face. He’s no longer smiling, and a vicious part of Kiyoomi is glad.

“God, yer an ass.” _Takes one to know one_. “My…partner usually cooks lunch for Ojiisan, should I tell ‘im to stop? Since yer here and all?”

Kiyoomi’s first instinct is to tell him that of course he should stop. He doesn’t trust Miya, doesn’t trust this mysterious partner of his (it’s probably his twin, who Kiyoomi liked over this Miya but who he could never say he _trusted_ ), and there’s no reason for him to be bringing food over if Kiyoomi is going to be here. But he knows he’ll need help. So, even if he doesn’t trust him, he’ll have to give up this battle.

“He needs to be eating healthier. Not junk food.” Kiyoomi remembers the contents of the shelves. “Not goldfish.”

“Ya got a problem with Cool Ranch, Omi-san?” Kiyoomi gives him a glare, and Miya laughs at him. He glares a little harder. “Fine, I’ll tell Suna.” Kiyoomi has no idea who Suna is, and he actually, legitimately, truly _does not care_. “Ya might wanna come on out of this house soon, though. Got the whole town talkin’ ‘bout ya, and ya don’t want them bustin’ down ya door, now do ya?” Kiyoomi makes a face, something that is probably not even visible behind his mask. Miya says nothing about it either way, finally getting off the couch with a stretch.

He calls out a goodbye to Kiyoomi’s grandfather, who yells back in kind, and then gives a cheery goodbye to Kiyoomi before he puts his shoes on, knocks twice on the door to be an annoyance, and leaves. Not two minutes after he’s gone, Kiyoomi’s grandfather returns. Kiyoomi starts dinner with a scowl, the mysterious reappearance feeling planned. As if his grandfather had wanted him to talk to Miya.

And his feeling gets stronger as the dinner preparation conversation and the actual dinner conversation turning to Miya. “What did ya think of him?” and “He comes ‘round to drop off lunch and talk” and “I know ya didn’t like each other as kids, but he ain’t a bad guy.” Kiyoomi offers vague half answers and grunts and otherwise lets his grandfather keep the Miya Atsumu is Great conversation going.

He may have actually preferred to come home and find that Ushijima has been diligently taking care of his grandfather. Or anyone else, really, besides Miya. Because it’s not as if he can figure out why Miya would bother.

Because Sakusa Kiyoomi hated Miya Atsumu, and Miya Atsumu hated Sakusa Kiyoomi.

It was one of the few unchanging things of the past. Where Kiyoomi had wanted cleanliness, Miya would go through like a hurricane and knock everything to the floor. Where Kiyoomi had just wanted silence, Miya would talk a mile a minute and demand attention for every little thing. Kiyoomi didn’t like touch, yet Miya would touch him all the time, a high five during volleyball practice and games, a slap on the back, a brush of fingers as Miya loudly gestured while he was talking and wasn’t paying attention the space between them.

And it didn’t stop.

Miya would whine for Kiyoomi to pass him pencils that he carelessly dropped on the floor. Would tell him awful jokes to try and get a reaction out of him. Miya told Kiyoomi to his face that he was trying to get a reaction from him. Miya would claim that he and Kiyoomi were friends, and then go ahead and call his wrists ‘freaky’ or his serves ‘nasty’.

Miya one day decided he was bored, reached out, and grabbed Kiyoomi’s hair. And then _pulled_. Kiyoomi had yelped, because it hurt. And Miya had looked at him with wide eyes, like he was surprised that pulling on people’s hair would hurt them. Like he was surprised Kiyoomi could hurt.

And it was that same expression years after the hair-pulling incident (which had gotten Miya into a month of detention and almost a suspension) when Kiyoomi, not a week after the funeral where he had watched his grandmother be lowered into the ground, had felt himself teary-eyed. He sat in the back of the class, so no one should’ve noticed. It’s not like he was sobbing, not like he was making any more noise than his usual silence in class. But Miya had noticed, and, because he was an asshole, had loudly asked, “Omi-san are you _crying?_ ” And then everyone had turned to look at him, and he could feel their pity and Kiyoomi had hated Miya and his wide eyes and his dumb face with everything he had.

And maybe it wasn’t fair to blame everything on Miya, Kiyoomi mused as he washed dishes and his grandfather dried, because Kiyoomi had always gave as good as he got. He couldn’t touch Miya, but he had smirked every time the boy got in trouble for being loudmouthed. Miya made fun of him, and he asked him who thought his opinion was needed. He learned to dodge most of Miya’s touches. Flipped him off and insulted him, taunted and teased, and never instigated things but always was ready to end them.

And they never softened. Never stopped flexing wrists that got him a service ace, never stopped mocking the fact that Kiyoomi had to be the first one in the showers and locker rooms. Graduation came and went, and Kiyoomi went to New York without ever feeling more than contempt for Miya.

So, he rationalizes after he’s completed his nightly routine that now includes helping his grandfather ready for bed, it’s only normal that he’ll pick up right where he left off. Miya Atsumu has never given him a reason to like him as a person, let alone as a friend.

No matter what his grandfather says, he doubts that’s likely to change any time soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Atsumu with all my heart but hes an asshole and I stand by this
> 
> More importantly, flavor blasted goldfish; thoughts? (the best of eating chips is sucking your finger to get the taste afterwards too, and I also stand by this)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finding jobs to give the cast so they're all in one town when the one thing that connected them before was volley ball is _harrrrrrd_
> 
> *throws self on floor*

Kiyoomi does go with his grandfather through the town, reintroducing himself to people that had known him through his childhood. Only a couple people make attempts to touch him, to ruffle his hair of pat him, but his flinch back is enough that they stop. One laughs and mutters that Kiyoomi hasn’t changed much. It feels damning.

They visit the Kuroos’, Ms. Kuroo cooing apologetically about Kiyoomi’s grandfather’s leg. “Just let me know if you two need anything, you hear?” His grandfather waves off the offer and the sympathy.

“Nah, I got Kiyoomi waitin’ on me hand ‘n foot. Even if he won’t let me eat bacon.” Ms. Kuroo laughs at the groan that Kiyoomi lets out. He does not want to rehash this. Not again.

“We’ve missed you, Kiyoomi. Feels like you’ve gotten so big since heading on out.”

“I’ve missed you all too.” He lies, trying to be polite. “New York is very different from here.” That one’s more truthful. In New York, no one cared about him. It was freeing. It was disgusting, because no one cared about anyone else and a million people did as they pleased with barely an eye roll as a response, but it was freeing. Because he could wear his mask, and no one commented. If he wiped down his seat on a subway before sitting, no one even gave him a second glance. No one knew his business, and no one cared to.

“Oh, I bet. Are you eating well, though? You’re so skinny.” She tsks at him in the same breath she laughs. “Well, I’m sure Suna will put some meat on your bones. He’s got us all a little plumper now. Ruined my diet thrice now.” She laughs again, and Kiyoomi distantly wonders if there’s something about the town that makes people’s laughs sound like cackles, or if the townspeople just do this naturally.

They visit Ushijima’s father. (They don’t share the same last name but Kiyoomi can’t help the title. He will always be Ushijima’s father, just as his grandfather will always be Kiyoomi’s grandfather. Calling them anything else would be wrong.) He gives Kiyoomi some soap in a bag, and the little decorative soaps make him smile, lips quirking behind his mask. He had always been amazed at the soap carving, had always liked the idea that something being clean didn’t mean it had to be plain. Had also liked the fact that Ushijima’s father had much the same expressionless face as his son, but surrounded himself with little soaps turned into candies, or ducks, or whatever else he fancied. The contrast was interesting.

Kiyoomi’s were tiny volleyballs.

He thanks him, and they continue on their quest to have everyone ogle Kiyoomi and ask him how he’s been in the last ten years, as if the answer is going to be anything interesting.

When it’s around noon, his grandfather guides him to Miya and Co, which Kiyoomi keenly recognizes ass the Miyas' actual house. He’d been over a couple times in childhood- for parties where invites spanned the entirety of the town- and none of those had been quite pleasant. If he wanted to watch the Miya twins argue and wrestle each other, he would have paid attention to them at school.

But he helps his grandfather maneuver the few steps up to the door anyway. A bell chimes as they enter, and the building isn’t as Kiyoomi remembers it, filled with shelves and refrigerators, and a space where a cashier should be behind a register.

But the cashier is nowhere to be found, a yell of “Be right there!” the only tell that someone else is here. And then out comes Miya Atsumu, followed by… _someone_. Kiyoomi can’t place the hair, a dark brown that could almost be black, or the eyes, analytical and sharp. Kiyoomi immediately feels naked and exposed, and they haven’t even been introduced. He glares at the stranger, hoping for him to avert his eyes and instead gets a lazy smirk in response.

“Ah, my fav’rite customer. And Omi-san, I guess.” Miya also has a smirk, and between the look on the brunette’s face as he’s taking a seat by the counter and the disgusting way that Miya is smiling at him, he thinks he’d rather leave than spend any more time here. “I was just ‘bouta bring y’all yer lunch.” Miya goes back to wherever he came from, theoretically to get their food. Or at least Kiyoomi hopes so.

“S’ yer K’yoomi, then?” The brunette’s accent is similar to the way most of the town people speak, but there’s something a little different in it.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi. You are?” Kiyoomi’s grandfather rolls away to the shelves. Kiyoomi’s hands feel empty without holding the handles of the wheelchair. He shoves them in his pockets with a scowl.

“Name’s Suna Rintaro. Cashier, cook, and Miya Atsumu babysitter extraordinaire.” Miya comes back, a scowl on his face as he puts a bag with Rubbermaid containers on the counter. He hits Suna upside the head- twice- and gets an elbow in return. The elbow looks like it hurts, too, catching him in the ribs. Miya winces, and Suna shoots him a look of utter glee.

“Stop introducin’ yerself as my babysitter. I’m older than ya, have some respect.”

“When ya deserve respect, I’ll give ya some, how ‘bout that?” The reply is instantaneous. This is clearly not the first time this argument has been had.

They bicker back and forth, and Kiyoomi would just like his grandfather to reappear so they can leave. He reaches in his pocket for his wallet, getting Miya’s attention with the movement. “How much is lunch?”

Miya laughs at him.

“’S on the house. God knows Suna’s cookin’ ain’t shit.” Suna snorts, and Miya shoots him a look. Kiyoomi would argue, doesn’t want to be in debt to anyone, but Miya waves him off, and his grandfather returns to grab their bag of food, so they’re off.

When they get back home, hands are washed, wheels are sanitized, and dishes are cleaned again before the table is set.

The containers in the bag look clean, and everything is separated. There are onigiri, packed in rows of two’s, two containers of a salad, and two containers of gyoza that Kiyoomi eyes warily. He had very specifically said he wanted healthy food. These are most definitely fried, and therefore he puts them back in the bag. He’ll speak to Miya later.

Luckily, his grandfather doesn’t argue too much on the content of lunch and helps himself to more than enough of the onigiri. After cleaning up from lunch, Kiyoomi brings out a go board he had unearthed the day before, and they play a couple rounds before he goes to get started on dinner. They eat, his grandfather showers, and then Kiyoomi puts him to bed before seven. It feels early too early to sleep, but his grandfather claiming that this was the time he normally slept has him frowning. They were definitely up later the day before. He didn’t want to disrupt his grandfather’s schedule any more than he had to.

Speaking of disruptions, Kiyoomi should probably go find Miya before the day is out. And an early night jog wouldn’t do any harm. He grabs his phone, puts on his mask, and heads out.

The sign on Miya and Co’s door says they’re open until ten, so he pushes in. There are more customers already in when he enters, and he nods a greeting despite the fact that just the sight of the ten or so people has him ready to turn around and leave again. Instead, he waits for Suna to go through the line, staying far enough back that no one can touch him but not far enough that it looks like he’s creepily hanging out.

Eventually, he makes his way to the counter

“Sakusa. What can I getcha?” There are still a couple people milling about the store, so Kiyoomi carefully suppresses his annoyance.

“I don’t suppose tomorrow you can please not include fried foods? I told Miya that my grandfather needs healthier options, but I have the feeling he didn’t pass on the message.” Suna laughs, and Kiyoomi sighs. “I will take that as he didn’t.”

“Nope, wasn’t told a thing. Prob’bly forgot; he’s a bit of an airhead.” Kiyoomi snorts.

“That hasn’t changed.” Now it’s Suna’s turn to snort, though his is louder than Kiyoomi’s was.

“Forgot you knew ‘im. Y’know, ‘fore you went and went to New York. What’s it like?” Kiyoomi should give a cut and dry answer, but it’s slightly refreshing to be talking to someone his own age that knows nothing about him. Like a blank slate. Even if people had probably mentioned him, he wouldn’t know what was unusual. What changed, what hadn’t.

“Having known Miya in my childhood? Horrible. Having gone to New York? Fine. Different from here.”

“Oh, Sakusa, I am gonna _love_ havin’ you ‘round.”

Miya arrives, then, knocking twice before opening the door and setting off the bell and then knocking twice more on the already closing door. He scowls at first at Suna, though he offers a leer to Kiyoomi that has Kiyoomi already halfway out the door.

“What, do I smell? Where’s the fire, Omi-san?” Kiyoomi doesn’t bother answering him besides raising a singular eyebrow. Miya looks like he’s going to say something, shit-eating smirk at the ready, but Suna blissfully cuts him off.

“Yer stinkin’ up the place, ‘Tsumu. Shoulda stayed away.”

“Well, I ‘pologize if I interrupted yer very secret conversation in my store by existin’,” Miya’s voice is dry, sounding not very sorry at all. “But some of us hafta work.”

“You sayin’ me bustin’ my butt to be a cashier while you go flirt with Ms. Kuroo ain’t work?” There’s something to be said about the dramatics of being as sarcastic as you can to someone. While Kiyoomi admires Suna’s dedication to pissing Miya off, he does wish he’d be a little less loud about it.

“When you go on deliveries, you can flirt with all the customers you want. And ‘Samu will kick your ass fer it.” Suna sticks his tongue out. Kiyoomi finds himself endeared by the action and a little unsure as to why.

“Where is Osamu?” Suna and Miya exchange another look, one that has Miya scowling again. Does he not have other expressions besides scowling and annoying smiles nowadays?

“’Samu went up to Tokyo. He’s openin’ up an onigiri shop and takin’ some business classes.” Suna sounds proud, smiling as he speaks. It’s a soft smile. “Which means I got stuck with ‘Tsumu here.”

“Ass. I was ‘ere first, means _I_ got stuck wit’ _you_.” The words are barbed. There seems to be some sort of double meaning in the words, but Kiyoomi doesn’t know what it is. He can only tell from the way they drop the subject, Miya going to organize some of the shelves and talk to the other patrons.

Kiyoomi wants to stay. It’s a disturbing thought. He’s doesn’t take to people easily, and certainly doesn’t care for loudmouths. But there is something about being with Suna that makes him want to take a seat and just continue talking.

God, he needs friends. He hasn’t had a real conversation with people his age has him in ages, and now he’s already longing for another one.

But he doesn’t want to do that with Miya here. Or, really, with anyone else but Miya gets to be singled out. Especially because he’s the one that interrupted them. And forgot to tell Suna to dial back on the unhealthy foods. And the million other issues that Kiyoomi had with him from their childhood. Is it petty to hold a grudge? Yes, probably.

Kiyoomi decides that he doesn’t care about being petty, though, as he walks out with a swift goodbye called over his shoulder and one last look of Suna waving to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is 0 planning going into this fic and like i only have .6 of a braincell left after so many months of not writing, so there is _no_ editing. kiyoomi finding sunarin endearing was NOT part of my initial thoughts but who am I to interrupt?? end game pairing is NOT changing
> 
> if you guys are actually enjoying this you should let me know!! because im 1 step away from being atsumu and also need attention like 110% of the time


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some writers complain about writing Atsumu's accent but, as someone who doesn't pronounce the 'g's at the end of a lot of verbs and also butchers the rest of the sentence, I am LIVING

Kiyoomi settles into a routine over the next week. He and his grandfather go throughout the town to do errands every morning after cleaning up, talking to people and stopping his grandfather from attempting to help Kita with the more heavy-lifting part of his farmwork. Afterwards, they head to Miya and Co. Miya gives them their food. Kiyoomi offers to pay every time, and Miya brushes him off every time.

Even if Kiyoomi knows it’s Suna doing the work instead of Miya, he doesn’t feel comfortable owing anyone any favors.

After Kiyoomi and his grandfather eat- a much healthier lunch, the first day was a fluke that hasn’t been repeated- they hang out in the house. The mornings’ dailies always seem to take a lot of energy out of his grandfather, and he doesn’t know how the man even managed to get on a roof in the first place. He’s not frail, but he does leave more space in conversation, seems more weary now and then. Kiyoomi puts him to bed at 6:30 every day, and he always falls asleep within minutes.

Kiyoomi cleans up from their dinner after putting his grandfather to sleep. After all the leftovers are put away, after all the dishes are washed and dried, after Kiyoomi washes his hands and dons his mask and his jogging sneakers, he returns to Miya and Co.

The place is always more full in the evening than it is around lunch time. More people out of work or school, with time on their hands. But Miya doesn’t come back around until 8. (Kiyoomi is aware that this means he was waiting around the store the first night he came to correct Suna for about an hour. He doesn’t dwell on it.)

Kiyoomi takes this time to talk to Suna. Suna never asks why, though he had seemed surprised when Kiyoomi came back the second day. But he offers Kiyoomi a smile and some light-hearted conversation and lets Kiyoomi answer at his own pace. Usually the topics are how Kiyoomi is settling in, about the errands he’s done this morning, or about the people that come into the shop. Kiyoomi learns about Suna while they talk, and, if he saves the information the same way teenaged him saved information about another boy with eyes that held him in place, well.

That’s for him to know.

He learns Suna has lived in the town for seven years. He had lived in another town, a smaller one, but had met Osamu online through some app or another and had ended up moving in with him and Miya on an offseason. Miya hadn’t appreciated this, Suna relays with a smirk on his face, because Osamu and Suna were the only two in town that didn’t feed into his ego.

Suna is also a volleyball player. He plays professionally, though he says he’s on leave. Kiyoomi doesn’t press why, because that’s personal and he’s not a complete asshole, but he does wonder. Lays at night wondering about invisible injuries and worrying about things that lay under that smirk.

Suna is a bit of an asshole, but it’s mostly to Miya. Miya coming in is always a sign for Kiyoomi to be heading out, those two first knocks an alarm that ends their conversation. Kiyoomi never manages to leave without Miya making some sort of remark, and Suna manages to make one back for him. (Kiyoomi _could_ make his own comment back, but there’s something about the way that Suna teases Miya that he likes. He also doesn’t dwell on this.) And whenever Suna talks about him, it’s to tear him down. The other customers offer their own praises, occasionally, saying that they liked Miya and he was “a nice, young lad”, and Suna would just look at Kiyoomi and shake his head.

The next big thing Kiyoomi learns about Suna comes at the end of the week. He’s been dreading Saturday night, knows that Ushijima will be coming some time the upcoming week. He may have been focused on learning what he could about Suna, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t haunted by the fact that he’d have to see his old crush. It’s not that he fears what Ushijima might say. It’s that he fears the way he may instinctually react. He would like to avoid being embarrassed at all costs.

Back to Suna. Suna, who lights up a little when Kiyoomi gets there. Suna who announces happily that he’ll be gone next week. Suna, who upon Kiyoomi’s curious noise, says he’ll be heading to Tokyo for the week, helping Osamu with the business.

Kiyoomi feels a little selfish for being upset over the thought of an upcoming lack of conversation between the two and that it means he’ll need to cook lunch the upcoming week. He’s come to look forward to seeing the packaged lunches, feels a little giddy when he considers that it’s Suna who made it. And he was honestly planning on using the joy he got from these meetings to offset the anxiety he’s getting from Ushijima’s return. But he nods and wishes Suna luck on his journey.

They talk some more, Kiyoomi eagerly basking in the presence that he’s sure to miss the next week.

At 8 sharp, two knocks sound on the door. Kiyoomi’s already gathering his stuff to leave, bidding Suna one more goodbye and ‘safe travels’, when Miya walks in without care for the conversation his loud voice and second round of knocks is interrupting. “Suna, if ya don’t call yer piece of shit boyfriend and tell him to get off my back, I’m gonna kill ‘im.” He growls, stalking past Kiyoomi without a word to take a seat behind the counter.

Kiyoomi’s soul has left his body.

“Yer brother would kick yer ass.” Miya laughs, flexing as if he’s got to prove something. Kiyoomi’s soul has left his body once more, and his body has been kept frozen in place.

“My _brother_ is freakin’ out because he thinks you leavin’ me for a fuckin’ week is a death sentence.”

“He’s worried ‘bout ya, ya big baby.” Suna rolls his eyes, giving Kiyoomi a look. Kiyoomi shakes his head, hoping he seems normal. Hoping that it passes for mocking. Hoping no one else in the room can see how his fists are clenched hard enough to leave marks.

“One, I’m older. Two, he doesn’t hafta be. There are enough people in this town that are too damn nosy, which means everythin’ll be _fine._ It’s insultin’, is what it is.” Miya crosses his arms and huffs. He looks every bit as put upon as a child in timeout. Suna laughs at him. A couple minutes pass. Kiyoomi would have normally walked away by now. But he has no control over his feet. Can’t pick them up, can’t make them move.

Miya restarts the conversation again, in a low voice that Kiyoomi can barely hear. There’s something soft in his tone. Something serious.

“I want ya to enjoy yer time with him _without_ worryin’ ‘bout me. I know ya miss each other.”

“Sap. ‘m gonna tell ‘Samu ya got emotional.” Suna’s voice is softer than it was before, but the teasing tone doesn’t leave him.

“I’ll tell ‘Samu what yer plannin’.” Suna glares at him for one short second, but the soft smile that seems to pop up without his control undermines it. Kiyoomi is entranced by that smile, even as he knows that he’s going to be wrecked after he lets himself process this conversation.

“I can make fun of ya _after_ I propose, then.” And it’s the way his voice goes impossibly fond that kickstarts Kiyoomi’s ability to walk. He offers one more goodbye, and a ‘good luck’ because he is apparently a masochist that wants to see that small little smile just one more time, and then he heads out.

When he’s home, laying on his bed after a hot shower that left him still feeling frustrated, he lets himself put the pieces together. Lets himself feel his heart breaking, just a little. Because it was one thing for him to find Suna endearing. Another thing for him to enjoy his friendship. But he knows that he wouldn’t be this upset over hearing any other friend’s plan to propose. And, honestly, he wouldn’t have treasured every little detail of any regular friend in the first place. No, Kiyoomi has a crush on Suna.

And Suna is head over heels for Osamu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops, sorry Kiyoomi :( maybe youre just destined to keep having unrequited crushes
> 
> kiyoomi and atsumu are going to interact more in the next chapter and this is a THREAT


	6. Chapter 6

The change in the routine for the next week is unwelcome, no visits to Miya and Co. The reprieve in seeing Suna should be nice, letting Kiyoomi come to the realization of his feelings so he can get over them now that it’s guaranteed they’re never going to happen. He knows the feeling is a crush in its earliest stages. It should be easy to discourage. And, in a way, it is.

It still leaves a bittersweet feeling in his mouth.

And it makes him only the more anxious for Ushijima’s arrival. Not like the two events really have much to do with one another. More as if his feelings can only stack on top of each other, not fully leaving him. All his worries of _did Suna know_ and _what if someone else figured it out, figured me out_ settles right next to thoughts of _will Ushijima be disgusted with me_ and _what if Ushijima_ told _someone._ The last one feels ridiculous- Ushijima was not a gossip- but he knows people can change. More reasonably, he knows Ushijima is the kind of person who does not necessarily shy away from advice from someone he thinks is able to help him.

The road to sharing Kiyoomi’s deepest secret is paved with good intentions.

It takes worrying all through Sunday and Monday- his grandfather asks him if everything’s okay the second time Kiyoomi scrubs the shower clean in as many hours and doesn’t seem convinced at Kiyoomi’s answer- before he decides to jog in the nights. Just because he couldn’t _shop_ at Miya and Co didn’t mean he couldn’t continue jogging past it.

So, he jogs, music playing from his headphones maybe just a tad bit too loud. But it drowns out Kiyoomi’s ability to think, and that’s all he wants right now.

He does end up jogging to the grocer’s. Takes a moment to think that calling it a general store might be more apt, but shrugs when he realizes it is filled with food and also that _he doesn’t care._ He’s jogging away when he feels eyes on his back.

Looking over his shoulder, the lights to the store are off, as they have been for awhile and as they were when Kiyoomi jogged up. He can’t see in the pitch black of the store. For whatever reason, this makes him look up.

Miya’s on the roof, looking dead at him.

It’s….really creepy, actually. Kiyoomi can just _barely_ recognize the shadow with eyes that makes up the other man. It’s not dark outside, summer keeping the sun out for longer, but Miya is hidden within the shadows of his second story. His hair is flat to his head, as if he showered and didn’t bother doing anything with it. And he’s not saying anything. His silence is out of character, even more so than him just looking at Kiyoomi. Maybe Kiyoomi’s the one who’s supposed to say something? He _is_ the one who decided on the impromptu visit. He lowers his music, lets it become background noise.

Miya offers a sleazy smile, his eyes blinking slowly. “Sorry, Omi-san. Just me, still.” Kiyoomi squints at him. He had come on this run to avoid thinking about the potential of people knowing all his feelings. He hadn’t considered the possibility of Miya picking up on it- had briefly entertained it but hadn’t truly considered it- and knows that he will most likely be returning to those words in another anxiety-induced fit later on. For now, he has to respond.

Kiyoomi huffs. “I know.” He blames the fact that routine tells him he should still be here for him continuing on the conversation. And not on his need to shift it from his feelings. “How are your brother and Suna?”

“’Samu’s textin’ me ev’ry five seconds.” He rolls his eyes. “Debatin’ changin’ my number and disappearin’, to never be seen again. Just like you, ‘cept I’d be mysterious. Ya can say you knew me when they make a documentary ‘bout it.” So dramatic.

“I highly doubt they’re going to make a documentary. Also, I didn’t change my number and disappear.”

“Mmm, well I never had yer number, so I’ll hafta believe ya there, but ya did just kinda go.” Miya makes a flying motion with one hand, probably supposed to mimic a plane. Even adds a little ‘whoosh’ for sound effects.

“I got an offer. I went. I’ll go back after my grandfather’s better.” Miya makes a noise, a grunt, but says nothing for now. Kiyoomi enjoys the pseudo-silence, a cricket near enough to shrilly interrupt his music with its call. Somewhere, a dog barks.

Miya breaks the silence.

“How’s New York?” Kiyoomi goes to answer, but a wave of the hand from the other man cuts him off. “Nah, I don’t care ‘bout the city. How’s playin’ with the big leagues?”

“It’s fine. A team is a team.” And his team may not be best of friends with him, but he had nothing to complain about. Not to his current audience, anyway.

“Wow. Poetry. Thanks. I can hear the volleyballs. ‘s like I’m there, Omi-san.”

“That’s not my name.” He chooses not to comment on Miya’s dry tone or his sarcasm. There’s nothing he could really say that makes his team stand out, nothing that would explain why it had to be New York of all places.

“’Course not. But ya can’t get away without one nickname.”

“That’s dumb.” Miya smile widens, looking almost physically painful. Every bit of it promises that Kiyoomi’s not going to like his next words.

“Hmmm? Call you Omi-Omi instead? A great suggestion, thank ya kindly. New York made ya such a sweet guy.” The nickname is juvenile. Omi-san was bad enough. But the repetition makes it worse, somehow. As if Miya was some child addressing him. (Actually…)

“Fuck you.” Miya chooses to respond by blowing Kiyoomi a kiss in lieu of a retort. Kiyoomi wrinkles his nose, but he knows it’s not visible through the mask on his face. He doesn’t have to put up with this nonsense.

He leaves, Miya’s cackles the soundtrack of the night.

\--

Everything points to Kiyoomi continuing his suffering by returning that next night. But, instead, he jogs elsewhere, exploring the town on his own accord. There are children playing, but Kiyoomi avoids them by virtue of them recognizing that he is A Strange Man Wearing A Mask And Gloves and not coming closer. He’s more afraid of them than they of him- he has seen enough children do the most disgusting things without blinking that he doesn’t even bother entertaining them as different- but he’s definitely not going to let them know that.

If he scowls a little as he passes, then that is for him to know and for the kids to think he does regularly.

It drizzles on his way back home, encouraging him to pick up the speed. His calves ache from the sudden running by the time he gets inside, but he’s only partially wet. A win.

His grandfather calls out for him after he takes a shower. He pads over, question on his lips, but his grandfather merely gestures for him to sit. He takes the edge of the bed cautiously, suspicious of the sudden talk.

“Ya look like I’m plannin’ on throwin’ ya out.” His grandfather asks, his voice rough. Kiyoomi nudges forward the glass of water he had asked for before bed, and the old man takes it with rolled eyes. Once it’s put back on the end table, he starts up again, voice smoother. “Couldn’t get back t’ sleep and thought I’d bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me.” The words feel awkwardly sincere. He means every bit of them, but he also _knows_ his grandfather was joking.

“Alright, thought we’d talk. You’ve changed ‘fore comin’ on back. Was gonna let you settle in a bit more, but humour an old man, won’t ya. What’re ya up to in that city of yours?”

“I’m usually playing volleyball.” He knows it sounds like he doesn’t have much of a social life, which he doesn’t, but volleyball also takes a lot out of him. After ten years of doing it professionally, he’d built up a routine with it, but his routines were _not_ meant to be broken as easily as they seemed to be nowadays. And the problem with doing the same thing over and over was that it left very little space to do anything new.

“What, not breakin’ hearts like Komori? He called, by the way. Left me a voicemail to tell ya to answer his texts.” Kiyoomi scrunched his nose up in distaste. Komori’s last messages were him complaining about Kiyoomi denying him from bringing a friend back to Kiyoomi’s place (“but you’re not using it!”) and about the lack of food in the apartment. Neither of which Kiyoomi needs to answer. His cousin’s probably bored.

“I don’t date, grandfather.” The implication that he doesn’t do other activities with people, either, is left unsaid. But he knows what his grandfather meant by saying that he changed, and he swallows. “I have a therapist, and we meet once a week. He’s been…very helpful.”

“But ya still don’t like touch or germs.” It’s not a question. Not an accusation. Just a statement that seems like both anyway.

“It’s not as bad as it used to be, but, no, I don’t.”

“I’m not complainin’.” He’s smiling. Kiyoomi smiles back. “Yer as stubborn as a mule; I’m s’prised, is all.” Kiyoomi’s smile grows just a bit, even as he rolls his eyes.

“I wanted to get better.” Not quite the truth. He wanted to get over himself, in all ways. Over his fear of germs. Over his instinctive recoil from touch and closeness. Over his fear that everyone would reject him for who he loved. Over his fear that everyone he loved could only love him if they knew part of him. But his statement already feels too vulnerable, no need to expose himself further.

“As long as yer happy, that’s all I can ask fer. Definitely missed ya, though.”

“I am happy. I missed you, too.” His grandfather yawns and scowls when Kiyoomi chuckles at him. “It’s late; you should go back to sleep.” He tucks him in, both of them exchanging good nights before Kiyoomi heads to his own room.

He calls his cousin, not even bothering to let him begin a greeting. “Tattling on me, now?”

“I’m borrrrrred. You don’t have anything fun here.” Kiyoomi pinches the bridge of his nose. “And gramps answered. Did you know he has the newest iPhone? _Why_ does he have the newest iPhone?”

“I asked for you to dust my apartment and to pick up my mail. Not to hang out there. And I don’t know, he had it when I got here.” Komori is already laughing.

“That’s so weeeeeird. How’s everyone in town? Made any friends?” His mind goes to Suna and then to Miya.

“I’ve already told you how the town is. I’ve made one friend, I suppose, but he’s out of town for the week.” Komori’s excited noise at Kiyoomi admitting he’s made a friend quickly turns into one of disappointment for the lack of said friend. It must be exhausting to cycle through these emotions so quickly.

“Guess you’ll have to make another one, then, huh?” He thinks of Miya again, and scowls. He will _not_ have to.

He hangs up on Komori and goes to sleep. He does not think about being friends with anyone. And his dreams are nonsense.

His first and only text in the morning is from Komori, complaining about the abrupt hangup. Not as if he expects any other messages. Hardly anyone here has his number, his grandfather the obvious exception. He doesn’t _need_ friends. Not like other people seem to. Making one the last week was enough. More than enough, really.

Especially because he remembers how one of his last friendships went.

Especially because he finds himself face to face with the other half of said friendship as soon as he and his grandfather are out and about.

Ushijima’s finally back in town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes im counting this as them interacting more but also literally i went in to this chapter wanting a couple things done, and wanting some lines said, and kiyoomi said fuck you and scowled at me. very rude boy
> 
> also i dont think i can refer to him as sakusa EVER as like a person ever again. i have written kiyoomi so many fucking times. almost as many as i wrote variations of the word 'jog' in that one section lmao


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Kiyoomi has a panic attack in this. I'm unsure how detailed it is, but I tried to hammer home his feelings so please proceed with caution!!
> 
> this chapter is also dialogue heavy. next couple chapters probably will, too. im filling in plotholes with dialogue and no one can stop me
> 
> OH also of note: Goshiki is Ushijima's kid here. I don't generally like taking the canon cast away from their actual parents, but you guys can pry this family away from my cold, dead hands

Saying that Ushijima has changed dramatically is wrong. Ushijima does not run up to him and claim that he’s harbored feelings this entire time and that he’s sorry for his high school rejection. Ushijima does not offer a comically large smile. Ushijima doesn’t shake him down and demand to know what the fuck Kiyoomi thought he could just end their friendship like that. Ushijima doesn’t look like his world is shifting because of the two of them meeting once more. (Kiyoomi _knows_ he’s being dramatic but knowing something is going on doesn’t mean he can _stop_ it.)

But Ushijima does offer a smile. It’s small. It’s tender. It’s nothing like the way Ushijima has smiled at him before. (Kiyoomi’s traitorous heart skips a beat.)

“Sakusa.” Kiyoomi dips his head in response, in greeting. “You’re back from New York.” It is not a question. God, Kiyoomi wishes it were a question.

Kiyoomi’s grandfather treats it as a question.

“He came t’ take care of me.” Ushijima’s eyes drop to Kiyoomi’s grandfather, and Kiyoomi jealously wants the attention back with a vehemence that surprises even himself. Is this what it means to have had a crush on someone: an everlasting need for their attention, a desperate feeling taking hold of him every time they make eye contact? He spares a moment to fear how he will react when Suna returns.

“You fell from a roof. It is best that you aren’t by yourself.”

“Who told ya ‘bout that? Here I am, tryna surprise ya wit’ my wheelchair, and someone snitched.” Ushijima offers another smile.

“Satori keeps in contact with Atsumu.” It’s an explanation, but now Kiyoomi has even more questions. Who’s Satori? Why does Ushijima refer to Miya as Atsumu? Why does Satori know Miya? Why does Satori knowing about things means Ushijima knows the same things? Is Satori the reason that Ushijima smiles that much more freely now?

Kiyoomi sees Ushijima’s finger sparkle with a wedding ring. He feels some of his questions being answered, wordlessly. He pushes down the bile that threatens to raise up at the answers. Ushijima is not his to be upset about.

“Shoulda known ‘Tsumu woulda rat me out.” Kiyoomi’s grandfather shakes his head.

“Atsumu seemed worried. I do not believe it was out of malice.” _Miya_ was worried about Kiyoomi’s grandfather? Can one of these sentences make sense and _not_ be utterly confusing?

“I know, but ‘m still gonna give him a hard time. Is S’tori with him, then?”

“Yes, Tsutomu went with them.” _Who_ is Tsutomu?

“We should go over, too.” _No, we should not do that,_ Kiyoomi thought, bitterly. “Kiyoomi hasn’t met Tsutomu yet. Or S’tori!”

Ushijima eyes him, and it’s clear that he’s taking in Kiyoomi’s reaction to meeting his possible wife and this Tsutomu. (a child? There are so many questions and Kiyoomi almost _needs_ answers) But it’s nothing as scrutinizing a look as years ago, and Kiyoomi manages to smile and say that he’d love to meet them- even if the only thing driving him is a curiosity he keeps to himself. It’s the right answer, because Ushijima smiles again, but Kiyoomi clutches the handles of the wheelchair just a tad bit too tight on the way over, anyway.

Miya and Co still has a closed door sign on it, but Ushijima knocks on the door twice and then it’s opening. He knocks twice more as the door swings shut- after Ushijima held it open for Kiyoomi and his grandfather- and Kiyoomi wonders why he and Miya both do it.

He’s been given a 1000-piece puzzle, but only some of the pieces are in the box.

Atsumu is sitting on a chair behind the counter. Standing is a man with a buzzcut, his hair an actual red that seems artificial. In Suna’s usual spot is a boy who is probably no older than 15, his black hair not quite a bowlcut but fairly close to it. The kid is very animatedly telling Miya about volleyball practice. He’s a little odd- praising himself in parts and then nervously taking the praise back as if he can erase how cocky it made him seem- but Miya and the redhead keep him engaged. If not for the redhead eventually coming to lean on Ushijima, Kiyoomi would’ve assumed that they hadn’t noticed their arrival.

When the volleyball practice talk starts to die off, Miya finally takes his eyes off the kid. “Would’ja look at that? My favorite Tendous, all in one place.”

The redhead laughs, even as Ushijima answers a monotoned “We are the only Tendous you know, Atsumu.” Miya sighs at the answer, turning back to the child.

“Y’see? Yer father has been saying this for six years now. Bullyin’ little ol’ me.”

“ _Do_ you know any other Tendous, though?” The kid sounds sincere, but Miya’s hand to his heart and his dramatic shock are anything but.

“Betrayal! Can’t believe my own godson had betrayed me like this.” Miya pretends to cry, which makes the child laugh (a nervous one, if the way he looks back and forth is any indication). Both the man-child and the actual child don’t seem to pay attention to Ushijima announcing that Miya is _not_ the godfather. “Yer lucky yer adorable, Tsutomu. Looks like the adults wanna start the boring talk of introcin’ each other, though, so why don’tcha go pick out a candy or snack or somethin’?” And he’s off, running to go through the aisles to go pick what he wants.

Ushijima calls off for him to pick something moderately healthy. Kiyoomi has a feeling that the request will go as ignored as his last statement. But the redhead clears his throat. His eyes- which are either red or a really rusty brown- are trained on Kiyoomi. They’re analyzing him, almost the same way Suna did the first day, and Kiyoomi wills himself to not do anything embarrassing here.

“You must be...Sakusa-san.” Kiyoomi nods. “I’ve heard so much about you.” There’s no time for Kiyoomi to even start to think about that statement, the redhead speaks fast. “I’m Tendou Satori, but you can just call me Satori. I’m Toshi-kun’s husband. Toshi-kun didn’t say you were so tall, though!” _Toshi-kun’s husband._

“Expectin’ another Shoyou?” _Toshi-kun’s husband._

“He’s taller than Toshi-kun though! I wasn't expecting that!” _Toshi-kun’s husband._ “Oh, can I see how far your wrists bend?”

Kiyoomi presses his wrists back slowly, ignoring Miya’s wince and not paying attention to Satori’s whistle as they go as far as he can get them. He rotates them, too, but more as a stretch than to show them off.

“That’s cool! You play volleyball in the states, right? We should all have a match one of these days!”

“Sorry, Satori, y’know I don’t play.” _Kiyoomi_ didn’t realize Miya didn’t play anymore.

“Tsutomu can play. Future ace with you two aces.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t understand any of this camaraderie, and, as conversation continues on, as his grandfather chastises an embarrassed Miya for telling Satori about his predicament, he internally debates his choices for figuring out what the fuck happened to Ushijima in the years gone by. (It’s not like he still believes that he has a chance, or as if he has a crush on him still. It’s the combination of not knowing anything and the fact that he doesn’t like leaving things unfinished that drive his curiosity. Yes, his catalogue of Ushijima Facts counts as things that are unfinished. Don’t look at him like that.)

It’s not as if he has to pay attention. His grandfather and Miya can more than fill up silences nowadays. Combine that with Satori and Tsutomu, who has brought back a snack that gets an approving nod from Ushijima, and there’s really no need for him to speak. So, again, he thinks it through.

Ushijima is out. Extremely so. Kiyoomi doesn’t want to seem any more pathetic in this quest than he has to, and asking the guy he had a crush on “hey, I know I basically ran away from you years ago but would you mind telling me a bunch of personal things about you?” seems a little…unnecessary. Also out is Satori, because Kiyoomi hasn’t even known him for a day.

He’s also Ushijima’s _husband_ , and Kiyoomi may be the tiniest bit jealous. Whatever.

Tsutomu is a _child_. And it’s not as if he could have any of the answers Kiyoomi needs. Or could he? Hm. No, the possible shame of interrogating a child is too much. He’s out.

His grandfather wouldn’t _judge_ him, probably, as the man seems to enjoy gossiping about everyone around him, but Kiyoomi still hasn’t told him that he’s _gay_ , which would make him have to skirt around the conversation for fear of something he doesn’t want being revealed.

Miya is not the _optimal_ choice, but it’s not as if Kiyoomi cares about what he thinks of him. He’ll have to do.

Later, Kiyoomi doesn’t even give himself the option of jogging anywhere else besides to Miya and Co. He has questions. Not even just about the introductions, but those ones do buzz around the most in his head. And he _will_ be getting the answers from Miya.

The store is closed and dark when he gets there. But a quick look reveals that, yes, Miya is on the roof again. His eyes are on Kiyoomi, a lazy smirk is splayed out on his face.

“Thought ya would be back. What can I help you with, Omi-Omi?” This isn’t a conversation he wants yelled out to the town. Kiyoomi sighs.

“I’m coming up there.” Kiyoomi hasn’t climbed a tree in years, but he climbs up the roof with relative ease, even if Miya’s amusement only seems to grow. Once he’s up there, he considers standing before ultimately sitting. It will be easier to go to land on his feet if he falls, this way.

There’s a space between him and Miya that he doesn’t bother closing.

“’m guessin’ ya got questions. Why you wanna talk to me instead of Wakawaka is up t’ ya, but ‘m not answerin’ anythin’ I don’t wanna.” Kiyoomi scowls. But they’re technically not friends, and Miya isn’t making him do anything in return, so he doesn’t push it. “’lright, what’s first?”

“Your friendship with my grandfather is weird.”

“Aww, you jealous?” Kiyoomi’s first instinct is to scowl harder, but he throws Miya a glare for good measure. Miya just laughs at him, because he’s a bastard. “Ojiisan took me in for a bit, so I repaid the favor. And no, ‘m not sayin’ why he took me in. Next question.”

“Fine. When did you become friends with Ushijima?”

“’S’not his last name.” Another glare. “Wakawaka and I played opposite teams for a bit, ’fore we quit. I made friends with Satori, because he kept goin’ to the games, and Waka was kinda a package deal with him. Already knew him, though, because ya can’t take a piss in this town without everyone hearin’ ‘bout it, but I didn’t really like him ‘til after he and Satori started datin’.”

“How,” Kiyoomi breathes. “How did they get together?”

“’lright, so I dunno all the details. _But_ Waka quit volleyball to go to school. He and Satori were kinda friends ‘fore he moved here in high school, and Satori stayed in contact with him. Satori came to every one of Waka’s games he could, but they didn’t start datin’ until that last year. Got married a year after, and then Waka was in school. And since yer gonna ask: they’re fosterin’ their kid, but they’ve been fosterin’ ‘im for so long that he’s theirs. I think they’re asking him if he wants to be adopted this year for the festival, but dunno.” Kiyoomi swallows. He _asked_ for this information, but it feels like so much at once. To hear not only that Ushijima, who was everyone’s top pick for an ace every year, no longer plays professionally, but that he’s married with a child, would be shocking enough even without all of Kiyoomi’s feelings. But the feelings definitely make it even more overwhelming.

Another swallow. Another breath. He goes to a different topic.

“Why’d you stop playing?”

“Bzzt. Also not answerin’ that.” Kiyoomi scowls.

“Fine. Are you the reason my grandfather’s phone is the way it is?”

“Are y’ askin’ if I bought ‘im the phone? ‘Cause, yeah, I did. If yer askin’ ‘bout any apps or things he has on it, that’s all Ojiisan. He likes all those brain games.”

“I assumed you someone else would’ve downloaded them for him.”

“Hey! You sayin’ ‘m not smart? Awfully bold o’ ya, after ya decided yer gonna be askin’ questions.” He was right, but damn if Kiyoomi was going to let him know that.

“You forget I went to school with you, Miya.” Miya snorts.

“Nah, but that doesn’t mean we know each other. ‘S’not like we were _friends_. Betcha don’t even know my fav’rite color. ‘Sides, we’re different from then. I don’t play those brain games Ojiisan likes, but ‘m smarter than I was ‘fore. ‘Cause I can see you still got more questions.”

“What’s your favorite color?” The question is out before Kiyoomi can think of it. It surprises them both, in the way that the question sits between them for a beat too long before Miya laughs, a little more quietly than normal.

“lright, I deserved that. Prob’bly red.” The amusement that lines Miya’s smirk is less malicious than Kiyoomi has ever seen. It makes Miya seem like someone who isn’t just an asshole.

“How did the town take it?”

“Take me likin’ red? I don’t think they care.”

“No, Ushijima and Satori.”

“Mm, I think some people were surprised. But that’s more ‘cause we ‘spected Waka to get with someone quiet, like you, instead of Satori.”

“No one cared that Satori’s a man?”

“I dunno, probably some people? But a lot of people from school weren’t straight so wasn’t a big surprise there.”

“What?” Kiyoomi croaks the word out, prays that Miya heard him the first time.

He did. “Tetsurou’s has a boyfriend. You know ‘bout ‘Samu and Sunarin. Ushijima. Kita from two years above us. Uhh, Tobio from a couple years below us. There’s more but ya get the point. Oh, you, I s’pose. Thought you knew but ‘parently not, huh?” Kiyoomi can’t breathe. He can’t breathe, and he can’t be here. He needs to leave. _Now._

He climbs down with a lot more speed than he climbed up. He doesn’t bother saying anything to Miya, even though it’s technically not his fault. But Kiyoomi needs to _not_ _be here_.

The trip home is a blur, Kiyoomi unable to think past the tears threatening to fall and the lump in his throat threatening to choke him. He feels stupid. He feels so, so stupid.

It should’ve been a relief. No one cared who he is. No one _cares._ But for Miya to know, for Miya to know all of this, how many other people knew? How many people have laughed at Kiyoomi for his futile feelings? He thought he was sparing Ushijima from teasing by association, but he was _stupid_ and _blind_ because Ushijima ended up with a man anyway. What was the point of it all? Why didn’t anyone _say_ anything? Did they sit there, thinking themselves better for leaving Kiyoomi out in the dark? Did they, like Miya claimed, assumed that he was ignoring them purposefully? Could he have been happier had he just opened his eyes? He thought that he couldn’t be happy in this town, thought that people would tear him down for feelings he couldn’t control. Had thought they’d be as rude about him being attracted to men as they were rude about his mysophobia. But he _could_ have been happy. The only one stopping him had been _him_ the whole time.

He showers, feeling stupid as he rubs his skin raw under too hot water.

He gets ready for bed, feeling stupid as he gets dressed in clothes that brush against his now oversensitive nerves.

He tucks himself in, feeling stupid as he tries in vain to even out his breathing, until exhaustion finally takes him.

He wakes up and gets ready in the morning, feeling stupid as his grandfather looks at him with sadness in his eyes. “Oh, _Kiyoomi_.” And he feels stupid as he crumples. And he feels stupid as he sobs. And he feels stupid as his grandfather murmurs soothing words, as he doesn’t quite touch him but lets him know that he’s there. And he feels stupid for wanting his grandfather’s comforting touch but, after all this time and after so many rejections of it, being unable to ask for it.

Eventually, after far too much crying (it could have been 2 minutes or it could have been 2 hours of crying, but either way was _too much_ ) Kiyoomi is done. He just wants to continue on his day. Wants to ignore the dark cloud of his shortcomings.

Instead, Kiyoomi’s grandfather rolls himself over to the couch. He pats it, invitingly, and Kiyoomi has little choice but to obey. The look in his eye isn’t quite pity, but it’s something similar enough that suggest Kiyoomi’s in no state to be anywhere else. Kiyoomi sits on the couch.

“Let’s talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have been writing this chapter for like??? 6 hours??? and didn't reread so please let me know if anything doesn't make sense. mostly tried to do a "how do you deal with the thought that you have caused 90% of your problems" from Kiyoomi's POV. Because, like, think about it. His mysophobia and fear of being touched are problems that "he caused" (not that i believe theyre his fault or that theyre easy to get over. more that its his brain that is giving him the anxiety instead of like someone like actively stopping him from germs or from being touched.) and he told himself for so long that the town wouldn't be accepting of his sexuality, but they were accepting to other people. he theoretically ran away from nothing.
> 
> (again, i don't believe this. but ive also been in a position where its my anxiety that ruins things for me and finiding out "WOW it's not as bad as I thought" always makes me feel dumb first so. yes i am projecting on Kiyoomi. What is fanfic for besides taking problems u have with yourself and throwing them onto unsuspecting fictional characters??)
> 
> ALSO: I am so bad with responding to comments (like i always feel like i seem not genuine) but I truly love reading them!!!


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